


Even good people don't last forever

by Pearlislove



Series: Seraphina Picquery/Percival Graves Family series [12]
Category: Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them (Movies)
Genre: Sadness, character death (mentioned)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-02
Updated: 2017-01-08
Packaged: 2018-09-14 06:30:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,113
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9166132
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pearlislove/pseuds/Pearlislove
Summary: The death of Seraphina PicqueryorTina and Graves, on the 16th of September 1928





	1. Tina Goldstein on the day Serpahina Picquery died

**Author's Note:**

> Chapter 1/2. 
> 
> So this ideas been in my mind for a while. This is Tinas chapter, going through her feelings and actions on the 16th of September 1928. Next chapter will be Percival Graves during the same day.
> 
> Enjoy!

To anyone and everyone who were asked, the the morning of 16th of September 1928 had been a  rainy, gray, positively not good September morning like any other. Yet, there was not a single time in all of Porpentina Goldsteins entire long life, that she could not recite what she had been doing every single second of that day.

 

It had started with her being three hours late for work, which was supposed to be just remedial paperwork until she was assigned a new case. Queenie had woken up with one of her incapacitating migraines and Jacob had called her about it in absolute panic, unable and unaware of what to do.

 

Being a natural Legilimens, Tina’s sister had gotten used to near constant headaches. But the problem was that at times they became strong enough to make her unable to do close to anything, much less work. It left Tina with a hole lot more to do than she normally had as she called in sick for her sister and made sure that she was going to be alright alone in her and her husbands apartment when he left for work.

 

When Tina finally got to work, though, rushing in through the door with her hat askew, handbag nearly falling off her shoulder and still swallowing the last of her coffee, she had been surprised to see everyone turning to stare at her, the worry and fear in her coworker's eyes obvious.

Aurors were trained not to show that kind of emotion, yet now they were.

 

When they saw her, however, it seemed as though the heavens had opened up and god himself had descended, for they all smiled and laughed out of sheer awkwardness.  Tina soon found herself surrounded by at least half the staff, each of them interrupting each other to tell her what happened.

 

“Graves came in this morning and was so so very angry” Abergail Lead started, large blue eyes glancing at Tina, terrified, before being interrupted by Thomas Dawson.

 

“He have been asking for you all morning ” Thomas informed, looking almost manic as he stared at their new salvation.

 

“You got to calm him down” Mary-Ann Bead continued, a hushed whisper in a sea of loud voices as Tina tried to escape them in order to get to Graves office door instead.

 

“Make sure he's alright” Lee and Wilhelmina Glass called behind her as she finally entered, and several others shouted their agreeance.

 

As soon as she could, Tina squeezed the door shut behind her and breathed a deep sigh. Her coworkers statements and obvious concern had not made her feel any better or helped her already stressed and foul mood, and she felt deep satisfaction to finally be escaping them, even if she was instead building the path to something much much worse.

 

Graves were never worried without reasons. As far as Tina was concerned, Graves was never worried. At least he would not let his employees see that he was feeling that way, and if he did, something was surely very wrong.

 

She looked around the tiny, dusty office. It was stuffed with archive cabinets, magical and/or confiscated objects and loose files, and smelled vaguely of aftershave and firewhiskey. Long ago, Tina had been at a work party where she’d, along with Mr.Graves and the rest of the Aurors department, gotten notoriously drunk. One thing had led to another and it had ended in her slow dancing with Graves himself. It was then that she had figured out that Fire whisky and aftershave was _his_ smell, and therefor she knew his office smelled of _him_.

 

“Three hours late, Miss Goldstein. Or should I say Scamander? I heard rumours of an engagement from down in Wand Permit.” Tina couldn’t help but jump at the sudden voice, turning to see Graves sitting at his desk speaking to her, but not meeting her gaze as he played around with something behind the desk. The corners of her lips twisted at what he said.

 

 _Rumours from down in Wand Permit_ was a nicer way of saying that Queenie ratted out her secrets to her boss while delivering some coffee.

 

“Thank you, sir. I apologise for being late but my sister's ill and unable to get out of bed, so I had a lot to do at home to make sure she was going to be fine before me and her husband left for work.” She explained it all as formal as she could,  trying not to smile at the fact that she was engaged, once upon a time to be married, to Newt Scamander!

 

Graves sigh heavily, the good mood obviously not affecting him, and knitted his brows as he fiddled with something that Tina couldn’t see behind his desk. “Well you're not going to have any less to do today. “ He looked up, meeting her gaze with his and looking her straight in the eye. “I have to tell you something,  and it is of outmost importance that it never leave this room. Do you understand? I don’t care if you have to use occlumency against that sister of yours, no one but you and me shall hear of this.”

 

Tina nodded, uneasy, the thought of using occlumency against Queenie making her slightly ill but agreeing either way. It came with the job.

 

“Yes sir.” She responded, straightening her back and snapping into position as was customary when assigned a new case.

 

Graves didn’t say anything, only looked at her with a surprising pain in his eyes, and put forth an object on his scratched and dented wooden desk.

 

Rolling down the tip of his finger and onto his desk, was a wand.

 

It was unusually short, made of smooth wood that Tina accidentally recognised as Swamp Mayhaw wood because she herself had very nearly ended up with a wand of said material, which started out quite light close to the handle and got darker and darker as it came closer to the tip. The handle was made out of a pink gem that was fastened in the wood with a decorative silver clip with a quite intricate design.

 

All in all, it was a very beautiful wand, and had it not been so familiar,  Tina would have enjoyed the sight of it. As it was, she did not, though, because she knew who it belonged to and its mere presence at the table filled her mind with questions. She was just about to voice some of these questions, when Graves interrupted her.

 

“President Picquery is dead. She was found murdered in her residence this morning. Her wand was recovered along with the body, and given to me as proof for what I am saying.” Percival Graves voice was solemn as he declared what had happened. It was well known that he had been closed to the President, and Tina couldn’t imagine the pain her boss must have felt upon being informed of the murder.

 

The wand that once belonged to the president lay on his desk, marking a barrier between him and Tina as both of them kept staring at it and getting lost in their own thoughts.

 

It was the ultimate proof that Graves was telling the truth. No witch or wizard, especially if they were in any kind of position of power, would willingly give someone else their wand, lest they were dead or it were forcefully taken from them.

 

Seraphina Picquery was dead.

 

It was a concept that Tina wasn’t sure she could take in. Their president had been assassinated right under their noses, and she was hearing of it first now, so many hour later. She wish she’d know sooner.

 

“Why tell me?” It  came sudden, spilling out of Tina’s mouth unintentionally but following up the thoughts plaguing her mind for the last few minutes. “The Glass twins got twice the experience I do. Why not tell them?”

 

Graves furrowed his brows further at this, pulling a face so foul Tina couldn’t help but wonder what caused it. “I don’t trust them.” Was his simple answer. “This is the most delicate situation that could ever occur in aurors lifetime. I needed to tell one of you only for the time being, and my thought was to pick the most loyal, reliable and trustworthy. That person was you, Tina.”

 

Tina was shocked to hear him address her by first name, but tried not to let it affect her. Had it been any other time, she likely would have taken pleasure in the compliments and being seen as better than other, much more senior, aurors, but as the situation was she didn’t. She couldn’t. Not when a woman who’d Tina looked up to since the day she gained the highest position of power in all of America, was dead, and it somehow felt as though she was at fault.

 

“What do you want me to do?” She kept her voice steady, didn't falt. She was going to stay professional.

 

“The Aurors are being informed during the general briefing tomorrow morning. The announcement of her pausing is going out in the papers Friday morning, and MACUSA staff and employees beside aurors is being informed Thursday morning. Saturday will be a day of sorrow to commemorate her.” Graves began, picking up a stray paper from his desk and rattling off a list of information. “I need you to put together a draft for both the Auror briefing tomorrow, and the general information for MACUSA employees and staff on Thursday.”

 

He was acting so normal, so much like himself that it almost felt strange. The moment of weakness from before was gone, and instead his perfect, impeccable facade was once more intact. The thought that Graves wouldn’t even allow himself to show any kind of emotion at a time like this made Tina from more than the thought of the president being deceased itself did.

 

“Yes sir. Is there anything else, Sir?” She looked at him, tried to make him under that she was there for him if he needed her, and that it was all going to be okay. She didn’t know how you conveyed that in looks, but if Queenie could do it then Tina was certainly going to try.

 

“No.” He said decidedly, givign her an angry glare as if to tell her to sotp trying to expose his weaknesses, and, standing up and lifting the wand into the air, inspecting it’s ever detail in the weak light coming from lone lamp hanging from the ceiling. “Let’s just handle it with a discretion and calm that would make Seraphina proud, shall we?”

 

September 16th 1928 became a date that very much defined both the Wizarding community of America and Porpentina Goldstein herself for as long as the both of them existed. Seraphina Picquery was the first and last president of MACUSA to ever be murdered, and the words ‘Let's just handle it with a discretion and calm that would make Seraphina Picquery proud, shall we?” became a legendary quote for tuff times at the auror department. Personally,  Porpentina found purpous and direction in these words, and held them close for the rest of her life.

 

On Percival Graves funeral, she quoted him on those exact words, because it was, after all, what Seraphina Picquery would have done.


	2. Percival Graves

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 2/2
> 
> Percival Graves, on the 16th of September 1928

“Hoo, hoo! HOOOO!” 

Hearing the loud noise filling his bedroom, Grave sluggishly opened his eyes. The clock on the table beside him showed five minutes past five in the morning, and even though he was supposed to be at work in forty-five minutes, it felt much to early for an owl to be howling at his window.

Unless something happened.

With renewed interest and a slight measure of fear, he sat up, turning to the left to see what kind of owl it was. The owl, black feathered and quite small, was not easy to distinguish in the semi darkness of the room, but once her did, Percival saw that it was Tennyson, President Picquery’s favourite in office owl, more often than not used for personal messages as well. Guess that was a perk of being the president of MACUSA. No one questioned or investigated anything you did, legal or not, as long as you didn’t make it obvious.

Just the thought of Seraphina sending him silly little notes with Tennison and making everyone believe something bad happened made him smile, and he gingerly reached out for the owl, untying the note from it’s leg as it sat patiently and waited. The letter was written on Seraphina Picquery’s finest purple, lavender-smelling letter paper, that was used on only certain very important occasions, and he wondered who died, if she was upset and wanted him to comfort her, or maybe kill someone. Both was equally likely. 

Unrolling it, the first thing he noticed before ever reading it was that it was not her handwriting. Her handwriting, smooth and simple like her exterior yet complex like her soul, looked like calligraphy because she never bothered to stop writing long enough to lift the pen form the paper. The handwriting on the paper, on the other hand, was cold and unassuming and looked almost like it was made by a typewriter.

To: Mister Percival Graves, Head of Auror Department  
From: Henric Hender, Vice president of MACUSA

We got a situation. Meet me in my… Madame Picquery’s office at earliest possible time.

Please write your response and send this letter back to me to show you received this note

Graves stared at the letter. Whatever Vice President Hender, in-famous for his dislike of the president in charge and for disagreeing with her about everything but alcohol consumption, was doing writing notes on Seraphina’s finest letter paper, something bad had surely happened.

Quickly, Graves grabbed a pen resting on his bedside table and wrote his reply.

I got the memo. I will be in Madame Picquery’s office within the half-hour

Graves

Once done with letter, he quickly moved on to get dressed, pulling his coat over his shoulders as the black owl flew out the window with the message and sighing. Though he would say no when Seraphina asked him later, he really was scarred. He was terrified something had happened to MACUSA, to the witches and Wizards of New York or America, or even...he swallowed audibly not wanting to consider the possibility but facing it either way. Something might have happened to Seraphina Picquery. 

Having the level of security clearance that he did, Graves could easily apparate into the main foyer of MACUSA once he was done dressing. Once there, he was met by a cluster of international delegates, each of them in a more ridiculous outfit and a new level of panic than the next, and he silent cursed under his breath, wondering what in god’s name they were doing there.

“Excuse me, but was you summoned to… presidenten of MACUSAs office as well?” A heavy and oddly cubical accent interrupted him as he started descending the stairs to the elevator, and after a moment of indecision he turn to face whoever spoke, silently cursing under his breath once more. Of course the delegates had to talk to him, of all people.

Not that there currently was any other people except him and the diplomats there at five in the morning.

Turning around, he was met with the sight of a woman, presumably the elected leader of the colourful and confused group of international diplomats, staring at him with an angry expression, arms crossed and foot tapping on the floor. The woman was pale, almost white in the skin, with blonde hair and blue eyes. Her body was covered in large, heavy, most definitely cold-resistant robes adorned with leather and fur details, hardly suitable for the weather in New York but he guessed somewhat standard where she came from.

Suddenly realising that she was demanding an answer to her question, he simply nodded. “Yes, I was.” He answered, trying not to let the anxiety and frustration residing in his chest seep through.

“Where är it, då?” The woman continued, words of her native language that he couldn’t hope to ever say mixing in with the English. “We can’t find out path without a guide to us.”

“Third floor to the left. Now if you excuse me.” Rather than taking the elevator, Percival opted to apparate, hoping he could get to the office and demand his explanation before the group of disgruntled delegates, led by a woman he was only just now remembering was named Freja. She had come to visit in educational purposes from a country north of Britain, waiting for further transport to Ilvermorny in New York.

As soon as he arrived at his desired destination, he pushed the door wide open and entered, closing it again behind him within the minute, hoping it would further stall any dignitaries that like him wanted to get ahead of the group. 

Turning around to face the desk where he knew that Madame Picquery should have been sitting, always and forever, the dread that was already growing inside him magnified, growling and making him nauseous to show their disagreement with the scene.

Vice President Hender was sitting in Seraphina’s chair, her name plate thrown aside as he basked in the glory of imagining the office as his own, and as he saw Graves his gleeful, joyus face suddenly dropped, a mix of dread and fake surprise setting in his features. He knew, as well as anyone, not to cross Graves, and he realised that it was indeed what he had done.

“Ah, Mr Graves… I was wondering when you’d show up….” He started nervously, sweating and pulling at the color of his shirt, apparently a bit tight around his short, fat neck. 

“WHAT IN RAPPAPORT AND PICQUERYS NAME HAVE YOU DONE, HENRIC!” Graves bellowed, roared even, at the poor man in front of him and swearing in the names of Presidents both new and old as every ounce of self control was lost the moment he opened his mouth. “There was thiry confused internationally diplomats who should not be bothered unless absolutely important waiting in the lobby! THIRTY! Do you even know what absolutely important mean? And what are you even doing behind Seraphina’s desk!?”

He was beyond himself with rage. He knew he shouldn’t let his emotions flow like this, but he couldn’t care less because deep down he knew that something must have happened and it made him so fearful that he needed his anger to not break down completely.

 

“Graves...Percival...Percy” Graves hissed at the last one, and the vice president quickly looked away, busying himself behind the desk while he was continuing his explanation. “Please calm down. The crisis we hold at our hands demand your full focus.”

“What crisis?” Graves stomach flipped at the mere word and he thought he might throw up, panic flooding his veins as the initial anger started to subside. “For christ’s sake, tell me what happened to Seraphina!”

He almost screamed, again, and the man behind the desk flinched, throwing up an object on the hard wooden surface. Graves wanted to call him out for being a coward and a pathetic attempt at a human being, for no reason at all beside the fact that he never liked Seraphina anyway and had already started to take over her office in her absence that shouldn’t be, but he couldn’t.

The object that had been flung across the wooden desk towards him, was a purple and pink box with golden details. It was thin and tall, with two names engraved on the lid: Violetta Bouvais and Seraphina Picquery.

Violett Bouvais was the wand maker who made the wand once contained within the box, and Seraphina Picquery….Seraphina Picquery was its owner.

“Seraphina Picquery, our beloved president of MACUSA, was found dead in her apartment the morning. The wand was recovered from the scene and put in it’s original box, which was found in her bedroom, and given to me as a proof of her passing.” Henric explained, his face sympatic even though Grave noticed him drawing back from him, closer to the wall. “I’m very sorry. You were close weren’t you?”

It feels as though a large hole in the floor has opened up beneath Graves feet, dark and terrifying, ready to swallow him whole the moment the realisation settles in his mind.

 

Seraphina, his Seraphina, is dead. She was assassinated hours ago while he was sleeping peacefully in his own bed in his own apartment, just this once. Had it been any other day, any other day, he’d been with her and died too.

Or maybe, just maybe, she’d been with him. They’d both been in his bed and none of them would have died. But they haven't, because it had been hectic and they both needed to be completely rested. As though they couldn't be completely rested if they slept together. 

That single thought was enough to decide it for Graves, to determine how he was to feel about all that had happened and the fact that she had died. It had been his fault, because he didn't want her to stay over in his apartment where no assassin ever have found her.

He can't offer an answer to the vice-president standing behind Seraphina's desk, but the pain and anguish in features seemed to speak enough for his mouth to not have to. The man smiled sadly, pushing the purple box closer to him. “Aurors will be informed during tomorrow's briefing, general employees and staff on Thursday morning and it will be in the papers by Friday, if everything works out as we hope. I will brief the diplomats myself once we're done here, so they can report back to their respective countries.”

Graves nodded, absentmindedly, barely hearing what the other man was saying and caring even less, but trying to retrieve some of the information nonetheless. “And the wand?” It slipped out of his mind suddenly, followed by a strange, primal need telling him that he had to have it, because it had been her most treasured possession, just like she had been his.

“I glanced at the documents.” The box was pushed further towards Graves, almost down in his lap. “She left it for you. You can use it as proof, to prove what happened is true. Find an Auror who can put together some drafts for the auror and employee briefings on Tuesday and Thursday. Anyone you like, as long as we can trust them to keep it secret.”

Graves nodded, more out of pure habit than actual acknowledgement, because all he sees and pick up on is details that are wrong and out of order. The box for Seraphina’s wand should not be on her desk, Henric Hender should not be standing behind it, he shouldn't have to be feeling like the world is caving in and even if he did ‘Phina should be there to calm him down and tell him it’s okay. 

The biggest detail missing in it all was Seraphina, and yet, Graves was slowly starting to comprehend, her absence was the reason behind it all.

Just as mute as he had been since he was told the news, he stand up and grab the box. He hold it tight, cradling it in his arms and enjoying the smooth feeling of the box, decorated in pink and purple leather with beautiful golden carvings. Henric had told him that inside was the wand, her wand, the rarest of them all, and he held onto it as such. He held onto it in a way that showed it's indescribable value, and after giving the desk which had been hers and should still be hers a last look, he apparated away.

Percival Graves never returned to that office for, as he told a friend years later, he could not stand to face the ghost that was waiting for him there. Six months after the assassination of Seraphina Picquery on the 16th of September 1928, Henric Hender was announced the new President of MACUSA, and the same day Percival Graves retired. No one complained, as he wasn’t getting any younger, and everyone was well aware of how hard he had taken the assassination of their beloved president.

A month after his departure, Porpentina Goldstein was named his successor, and life moved on for all of them.

Percival Adolf Graves died on the 16th of September 1932, and it was said, that in his last moments, he was clutching a wand that was not his own to his chest and repeating a single word or name:

Seraphina


End file.
